


so this is what you meant when you said that you were spent

by tardris_m



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: F/M, I can't wait for the next episode also I have so many plotlines for these two I had to write this, Masquerade Party, Nathaniel is so gone on Rebecca and I live for it, Season 3, post episode 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-18 01:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardris_m/pseuds/tardris_m
Summary: Nathaniel starts the night so ready for it to be over, to get his prize. Turns out he was lying to himself about what he wanted most from Rebecca.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this because I have so many expectations for next week's episode that they can't all possibly be fulfilled, and also because these two are a mess and need to get it together ASAP. I don't know if I'll add more chapters, but I think I'm done with this for now.
> 
> Also I haven't written anything in a long time, so please let me know what you think!

This masquerade party was a mistake. Asking Rebecca why the idea of getting revenge makes her feel so good was an even bigger mistake.

“...when the truth is that he never loved me. He just loved the _idea_ of me. And I know it’s not fair to be angry at him about it, because I did the exact same stupid selfish delusional thing but the difference is that _he_ left _me._ He’s happy now, he has what he wants. But me? I have _nothing_. I _am_ nothing!” And she’s already in tears but the horror of what she’s said hits her and she starts sobbing. She cries the same way she does everything else, with all of her, so it’s only a moment before her knees give out.

Nathaniel catches her almost instantly, one hand at her waist and the other on her shoulder, and pulls her in. She doesn’t hesitate or pull away but keeps her hands over her face, pushed against Nathaniel’s chest.

At a loss of what to do, he hovers his hands for a moment over various places on her back, but eventually settles with one hand on the back of her hand, in her hair, and the other rubbing up and down her back. Jerky at first, he settles on slow, short circles.

He just lets her cry, listening to her blubber indistinct words, lets her get her makeup all over his tuxedo jacket because he has another just like it but there is only one Rebecca (and, he thinks selfishly, only one opportunity to hold her this way). He catches words like “failure” and “why me?” and “stupid bitch”, and each of them seem to reverbrate through his bones and into his heart, making his heartstrings seem weaker each time.

Occasionally he’ll pull her a little closer, and she’ll quiet a little each time, until her cheeks are basically pressed against his chest and her shoulders aren’t heaving anymore.

“Rebecca,” he murmurs softly, his chin angled down slightly so it is brushing against the top of her head.

“No,” she moans miserably, tensing up again.

“Shh, no, don’t worry,” he soothes. “I’m just going to sit us down, okay?” He waits for her to loosen up again in his arms before he detaches himself from her slowly and pulls off his already ruined jacket, laying it down on the floor.

Rebecca moves her hands away from her eyes, and it takes everything in Nathaniel not to react. Her dark eye makeup has run and smeared all over, making her look like some sort of abstract art piece. Her handprints had left marks from her forehead to her cheeks. Her face looks miserable and pale, especially against her bright red lips, which is what compels him to pull her gently to the floor, straight-faced.

She sits as far away from him as she can, facing so he’s looking at the side of her head, and looks anywhere but him for a moment.

“Rebecca,” he says again, just as soft as before. Her jaw sets but her shoulders jerk like she’s still crying. He figures there’s only one place to go from here and barrels on, not knowing what else to do.

He offers her his pocket square before continuing, and she snatches it away and blows her nose on the $150 silk rag. Nathaniel takes a deep breath.

“Rebecca, I know you’re tired. Not just tonight, but always. I know how exhausting it must be to carry everything you do all the time.” She merely hiccups in response, but moves closer to him, shivering. He continues on, emboldened by her lack of negative response, his voice firmer now.

“But even though you feel like you’re running on empty, doesn’t mean that you are. Empty, I mean.” At this, she looks towards him, straight into his eyes, and he holds her glassy, tired gaze in his own, trying to project confidence and comfort. He thinks he succeeds, because she closes the distance between them and collapses against him, boneless, her head on his collarbone. If he leaned his head down, his nose would be in her hair and he could kiss her temple. But instead, he rests his fingertips against her hips.

“I want to go home,” she whispers, like she can’t muster up the energy to be any louder. “Please, Nathaniel?” The angry, sensual flame around her has died down, and she’s sitting in its embers.

And how could he say no to her, ever? Not when she needed him. So he gets a firm grip on her elbows and hauls them both up, trying not to slip on his coat’s silk lining. He pulls her into the crook of his arm as he bends down to pick it up. He thinks fleetingly about picking her up and carrying her to his car bridal-style but instead drapes the jacket over her shoulders instead and keeps his arm steady around her waist.

They leave out the back doors of the banquet hall, close to where he’d parked and out of the way of the people who were still enjoying the party. He helps her into her seat and hands her an opened water bottle from his trunk when he gets in his side, which she gulps down. He resists the urge to tell her to slow down. Eventually, she pulls away from it, gasping a little.

“You okay?” he asks, then immediately realizes what a stupid question that is. But to his surprise, she looks over at him and shrugs jerkily, a weak approximation of a smile on her face. She uses his jacket to wipe away the rest of her tears, and with them any hope of salvaging it at the cleaners’. But he doesn’t mind.

 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////

 

Rebecca’s house is dark, and Nathaniel wonders if Heather is home. Rebecca is still listless beside him, so he grabs the spare key he knows is under the mat and lets them in.

“This okay?” he asks as he follows her over the threshold. But she ignores him, trudging up the stairs to where he assumes her bedroom is. He grabs another water bottle from her refrigerator and follows her. He notices that the other bedroom's door is open wide and it's empty, so they're alone, then pretends he didn't notice.

She’s slouched on the edge of her bed when he walks in, facing the vanity mirror but not looking into it.

“One second,” he says, and disappears to her bathroom, finding what he hopes is a clean washcloth and dampening it with some warm water, grabbing a bottle of Tylenol off the counter as an afterthought. He finds her in the exact same position as before, and kneels in front of her.

“I’m gonna clean you up a little, okay?” She makes a noise in the back of her throat but doesn’t move, so he begins to dab gently at her skin, cleaning away the bulk of the makeup and dried tears and sweat on her face. When she looks more like herself, he gently tugs off her heels, holding her ankles delicately, noticing despite himself how the bone sticks out at a funny angle and wanting to run his thumb over it. Instead, he moves to put her shoes aside.

She’s still motionless, but now she’s looking at him, and he’s at a loss for what to do next. It dawns on him that while he’d been there for her breakdown tonight, they are not particularly close. In fact, he’d agreed to be with her tonight so she’d sleep with him after. Not exactly what you’d call the goodness of his heart.

But he thinks of the way she’d gravitated towards his words earlier, and the way she’d been rejecting Paula’s attempts to talk about her feelings about the wedding. Despite their strange dynamic, she’d listened to him and found something in his words that had resonated with her. So, he hesitates. Rebecca scoots backwards towards her pillows, still looking at him, and the hem of her dress reveals the tops of her thighs. His throat is suddenly very dry.

“I-- I should go. Do you want me to call Paula?”

“Don’t.” She says, almost at a regular volume.

“Don’t call Paula? I know it’s late, but I’m sure she--”

“Don’t go.” And she’s whispering again, and she’s still looking at him and she hasn’t made a move to fix her dress and she has always, always made him feel just a little nervous. So he walks towards her bed, putting the water and medicine he'd been gripping tightly in his hands on her nightstand.

She tilts her head towards the empty space next to her and he sits as though she’s tapped into the motor control centres of his brain, making him do whatever she wants. Her sheets are a mess, and he knows somehow that she never makes her bed because _it’s such a waste of time, I’m just going to go back to bed at the end of the day_ so he’s sitting on her bunched up duvet and his brain isn’t working right, because it looks like she’s moving closer to him, on her hands and knees.

Then she’s right in front of him and obviously not a hallucination, pulling on his hands to get him to move onto the bed, onto his knees. He’s never been more confused in his life, is she going to cry some more, or tell him more about how badly she’s been handling the breakup?

But instead, she kisses him. She leans up and plants her mouth firmly on his, her hands on his shoulders. For a moment, he doesn’t move, his entire body rebooting. His heart is racing and his mind is screaming to _pull her closer, this is your chance!_ Then he gets a handle on himself and gently detaches her from him, her lips pulling away with a _smack_ he doesn’t want to think too hard about.

She looks confused, which he’s sure he does, too.

“What was that?” he asks, holding her wrists pinned to the mattress.

She looks at him like he’s crazy. “What do you mean? I promised that if you came with me tonight I’d let you do whatever you wanted to me. Did you want a _Pretty Woman_ type thing, I just figured you’ve wanted to kiss me.”

It’s more words than she’s said in an hour, and it takes him a moment to process. When he does, he lets out a bark of laughter. When Rebecca’s expression turns to hurt, he says, “Did you think I was going to take advantage of you when you’re so obviously not in the right mindset for anything of that sort? I’m not desperate, Rebecca.”

“There is _nothing_ wrong with me right now, just--” she moves towards him again angrily, trying for his mouth again and Nathaniel almost laughs again, astounded that he’s living in a world where Rebecca Bunch is literally throwing herself at him and he’s not at all inclined to take her up. But instead he dodges her clumsily, for the first time noticing the alcohol on her breath. _Great,_ he thinks, _she only wants me when she’s drunk and miserable_.

He shakes off the self-depreciating thoughts and looks Rebecca in the eyes. “You are exhausted,” he tell her in his “stern boss” voice. “You are drunk. You are hurting. _Nothing_ is going to happen between us tonight.”

A myriad of emotions flicker across her face, and suddenly she’s crying again. “You don’t want me. I knew it. I knew it was just a game for you.” Nathaniel heaves a huge breath because _god, this is the most delusional, oblivious woman I have ever met_. He lets go of her wrists and tilts her head up so she’s looking at him.

“And who was it, giving me a lecture about consent that night in the elevator? Because I distinctly remember a very affronted brunette telling me not to come any closer until she’d given a clear and explicit yes.” At that, Rebecca smiles a little.

“You remember that?”

“Of course I do. All I wanted was for you to be closer to me.” He feels himself flush at the frank vulnerability of his words and is thankful for the dark room.

“And you don’t want to be now, because you don’t think I can give a clear and explicit yes?” She’s searching his eyes, and he knows he can’t lie.

“I want to be, but I...” he trails off, because she’s so good at confusing him, at confusing people, which is what makes her so good at her job. She does it without even trying, and decides herself what you want to say.

She’s satisfied with his answer, though, because she rolls over, bringing his arm over her waist and pulling him down with her.

“Rebecca, I just--”

  
“Just stay until I fall asleep, please? Then you can go if you want, I just. I don’t think I can sleep alone tonight.” And again, how could he say no to her? So he keeps his arm around her, laying his head behind hers, strands of her hair tickling his nose. She’s tense at first, but slowly relaxes. He doesn’t realize his thumb has been absently rubbing circles into her palm until she’s breathing evenly and obviously asleep. She snores lightly, he notes, her inhales like little snorts, and his heart swells.

He lets himself look at her relaxed brow, her arms wrapped around her middle like she needed the extra comfort, her relaxed jaw just for a minute before he gets carefully out of her bed, pulling the covers over her as much as he can without jostling her. He knows he should have called Paula, and it’s 2 a.m. now and he didn’t hear Heather come in, so Rebecca will be alone the whole night. The thought twists in his gut, so he sighs and walks as silently as he can down the stairs. He pulls off his shoes and socks and unbuttons his shirt, settling on the couch.

Sleep finds him easily once he’s laying with his front against the back of the couch, and he dreams that he’s still upstairs, not cuddling with the upholstery.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to add this before tomorrow's episode, it's not a complete thought but I've been stuck and wanted this to have at least a little resolution. Thank you so much for reading!

Nathaniel wakes up to the sense that someone is watching him.

For a moment before his eyes open, all he can focus on is how much his neck hurts and how his legs are hanging off the edge of the bed. Surely, his expensive king-sized mattress wouldn’t do this to him, he should call th--

And it all comes back to him. He’s at Rebecca’s house, on her couch. Where he’d slept. Because he hadn’t wanted to leave her alone when she was heartbroken and miserable. He lets out a groan and rolls over, then promptly falls off the lumpy couch.

“Wooooow,” a voice drawls. “I knew you were kind of a mess, but getting kicked out of bed and staying over anyway? You’re really whipped.”

He looks up to see Heather sitting in a dining room chair that she’d presumably dragged over, watching him like he was a particularly stupid fish in a tank. He rubs at his funny bone, glaring at her, trying to remember how to be a person.

“I mean,” she continues, almost not even talking to him at all. There’s a nearly empty bowl of cereal in her lap and a spoon in her hand. “I know it’s sexist to say or whatever, and what a weird saying, but you’re like totally ass over ankles.”

“I-- I’m not a mess,” is all he can come up with, his voice still heavy with sleep. Heather raises her eyebrows condescendingly, grimacing.

“Dude, you’re sleeping in your clothes. On our couch. While Rebecca is still sound asleep in her own bed.” At the mention of Rebecca, he wakes up a little more.

“How is she?” he asks, getting slowly to his feet, feeling every sore muscle move along his back and shoulders. Heather furrows her brows.

“What do you mean, how is she? Didn’t you bring her home to sex her up as a prize for going along with her terrible idea then get kicked out because she finally realized she’s not in any position to be with anyone right now?” Of course she’d think that. Technically, the part about Rebecca was true, but he wasn’t going to fault himself for not seeing it. He _had_ done the right thing last night, after all.

“Heather, I brought Rebecca home because she had a breakdown about Josh at the party last night. And I stayed so that, you know,” he clears his throat uncomfortably and avoids Heather’s eye as he does up his shirt buttons. “So I could stop her if she tried to break into the seminary and kill Josh or something.” It’s a lie, but he feels a little better for it. Heather sees right through it, though.

“Dude, your using Rebecca’s mental instability to protect your own fragile masculinity is, like, super douche-y. I know you’re into her, you don’t need to front.” She stands and heads towards the kitchen. “I did think it was weird that she slept in her clothes. You want me to wake her up for work?”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. “No,” he says, heading Heather’s advice and dropping his aloof pretence for the time. “She can stay home today, I just have to grab my wallet from upstairs.” He starts for the stairs, then something occurs to him. “How long were you watching me sleep?” he asked.

Heather turns on the trash compactor in the kitchen. “Can’t hear you, man!” she calls, and he sighs, continuing up the stairs.

 

 

//////////////////////////

 

He hesitates for a second outside Rebecca’s bedroom, but hears nothing but her gentle snoring, so nudges the door open and goes in, and promptly freezes.

She’d rolled over in her sleep. Her duvet had slipped from her body, her dress riding up. He finds himself with a full view of her left leg, hip, and what makes his throat run dry and his mind shut down except for the part that always works around her, the bright red lace of her underwear. _It’s a thong,_ his brain supplies unhelpfully.

He’s just standing in her threshold for a second, a minute, a day even, his hands balled up into fists, his lips parted. Then he remembers that she’s asleep, and he’d come to get his wallet (check up on her) and leave. So he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to restart the part of his brain that would make his stupid feet work, and puffs out a huge breath.

Keeping his eyes trained right to the floor, he walks quickly to her vanity and snatches his wallet up, turning and heading straight back to the door the same way. But, because his luck is like West Covina steak, unnecessarily cheesy and _god how could it be this bad?_ , he hits a squeaky floorboard. Suddenly, he feels like he’s sneaking out from a one night stand, and he squeezes his eyes shut again, puckering his face and tensing his shoulders up to his ears like it would help him blend into his surroundings. For a moment, he thinks he’s home free, that the noise hadn’t woken her, but then he hears the rustling of her messy sheets.

“Nathaniel?” Rebecca asks, voice groggy and husky, and he prays that she’d fixed her dress as he turns around.

She has, and she’s looking at him through her sleep-filled eyes, and he feels the tension in his shoulders melt at the vulnerability he sees in them. All thoughts of fleeing gone, he moves and sits at her feet, giving her a small smile.

“Hey,” he says, because there’s nothing else that could make this less weird, him being in her bedroom after having stayed in her home to watch out for her after she’d revealed how deeply she’d been hurt by her fiance having left her at the altar. Rebecca swallows, then winces. “Uh, here,” he says, reaching for the water bottle he’d left for her last night and handing it to her. Their hands brush as she takes it clumsily from him, and he feels that familiar spark, but keeps his eyes trained on the mattress.

She chugs down half the bottle before she stops, gasping. She’s quiet for a second, then, “Were you sneaking out of bed?” she asks, and there’s a little humour in her voice now, and he looks up to find her eyes with just a bit of their normal glimmer back, a tiny smirk playing at the edge of her lips. He swallows, feeling bashful.

“Actually,” he says, wincing, ready for her to tease him mercilessly, “I slept downstairs last night.” Her lips part in surprise, and a million emotions cross her face a second. She licks her lips, and he tries his hardest not to follow the movement with his eyes. Eventually, the awkwardness Nathaniel feels is too much, and he gets to his feet, clearing his throat.

“So, I have to get to work,” he says, looking just past her, at her headboard, because she’s still just _staring_ at him. “But you can stay home,” he hesitates, “as long as you need to.” Then he abandons what’s left of his pride and says, trying to keep the pleading out of his voice, “But please, Rebecca, answer your phone this time.” He looks at her straight on, and she nods, looking down at her hands and twisting her fingers.

“Thank you,” she says hoarsely, when he’s at the door. He turns and gives her a gentle smile, nodding, letting himself really notice her. She’s still tired, but her shoulders are loose and she almost looks like the old Rebecca again.

“I’ll let Paula know to come check on you later,” he says, and leaves before he can say anything else that she’ll be able to hold against him later, when she’s feeling more herself. _Her_ new _self_ , he thinks, a little sad and a little bitter. Heather passes him on the stairs, carrying a box of cereal and a mug of coffee, and gives him a half-smile. He hears her go into Rebecca’s room and feels a little better about leaving her.

He puts on his socks and shoes and drives home for a shower and change of clothes, dreading the rest of the day. He’s hungover and just wants to stay at Rebecca’s, making sure she’s all right. He feels responsible for her wellbeing now, even though that’s ridiculous. She doesn’t need him, and even though he wishes she wanted him, she doesn’t.

 

 

//////////////////////////

 

 

“ _What did you do to her?”_

Nathaniel looks up from his desk to find Paula standing in his office, breathing hard, and Nathaniel’s mind flashes to a nature documentary he saw as a child, where a mother bear had chased down a man because he’d gotten too close to her cub.

“Relax,” he says easily, back in boss mode, but it’s exactly the wrong thing to say because she stalks up to his desk and slams her palms down on his papers. Nathaniel wonders whether it’s something in the water that makes the people here so dramatic, but pushes back his chair and stands, buttoning one button on his coat.

“Rebecca is going to be just fine,” he says, choosing his words carefully. Paula clenches her jaw and looks at him expectantly. “She was a little... distressed last night, so she’s not coming in to work today, but she was doing okay this morning.”

“What?” Paula says incredulously, “your technique was that bad?” Nathaniel looks to the ceiling to gather himself.

“Why does everyone think I turned her off that bad?” he crosses his arms. “And by the way, that was incredibly inappropriate. I _am_ still your boss.” Paula scoffs, and Nathaniel sits down again, deciding to leave this battle for another time when he’s not feeling so awful. “And for your information, no. Her plan didn’t go very well, and she was feeling a little, well...” He searches for the right word, not wanting to be presumptuous. “Unwell. Anyway, I told her you’d come check on her--” and Paula is already heading towards her desk for her purse. “After work!” he calls after her, but she ignores him, walking quickly towards the elevator.

He huffs a sigh, wondering if the women in the office would ever take him seriously. He sees Maya giving him a sympathetic glance and turns away pointedly, wondering if Rebecca had gotten the soup he’d had sent to her place.


End file.
